"Ugh, same old shitty view. Can’t they do something about this already?"
Taro was currently cooped up in a cramped ten-by-ten room. He grumbled his complaints while staring out through a thick pane of reinforced glass at the relentless sandstorm howling on the other side.
"Give it time, General. Word is, even this mess is a few percent weaker than it used to be," Alan replied, sounding profoundly bored as he fiddled with a handheld terminal.
Alan was lounging across a seat like he owned the place. They weren't in a Planetary Descent Craft this time; they were essentially in a metal crate dangling from a set of cables. No cockpit, no pilot, just a box moving through a void.
"Psh. A 'few percent'? Those sandstorms pack enough energy to blend a skyscraper. How the hell do you even 'adjust' the wind?"
Planet Nuke was currently a massive construction site. With the help of the Imperial Planet Development Organization—specifically the Terraform Center—the environment was being forcibly rehabilitated. It was a project that would take lifetimes, but the goal was to eventually make the place look like a planet again rather than a dusty death trap.
"It’s actually hilariously primitive," Marl said, looking like she was seconds away from a massive yawn. She was slumped in her seat just as lazily as Alan. "They just dumped a ton of Wind Power Stations everywhere to convert kinetic energy into electricity. Apparently, they’re doing some climate control using temperature gradients too, but that’s too nerdy for me to follow."
Marl sat up and squinted. "We should be seeing them any second now."
Taro pressed his face against the window, trying to see past the grit. "Wait, wait... just how many of those things did they build? Is there a power crisis I didn't hear about?"
Faint, cylindrical silhouettes began to emerge from the haze near the surface. He couldn't see the blades—they were likely spinning too fast—but the sheer scale of the structures was obvious even from this distance. They were spaced out in a perfect grid that vanished into the horizon. There had to be hundreds, maybe thousands, of the things.
"Hardly. If anything, it’s a massive financial black hole," Marl muttered, her face twisting into a grimace. As someone who treated every Yen like a close family member, the waste of resources clearly pained her. "The cost-performance ratio is a disaster. Environmental improvement is the priority, so they don't have a choice, but still."
She sighed, looking utterly fed up. "The sand would chew those blades to pieces in minutes, so they have to project a Physical Shield over the turbines just to keep them intact. They’re literally burning more power to protect the things than the things actually generate. They considered making the blades out of disposable armor plating, but the labor costs for the constant swaps would be even worse. People are expensive."
"Right. Seems like a waste of juice, but if that energy eventually turns into heat, I guess it’s a win? It is freezing out there," Taro noted. "So the main Base just runs on fusion? Actually, not like there’s much else to use."
"Exactly. Plus, despite the dust, there’s actually plenty of moisture to harvest, so fuel isn't an issue. And if things get really bad, we can just beam power down from space via cable. Stellar collectors, ship reactors—take your pick. Oh, heads up, we’re arriving."
The massive, skeletal structure of the Ladder Base surged up from below. Taro winced as the deceleration hit his stomach, his mind drifting back to the last time they were here, fighting tooth and nail to keep a WIND Swarm from tearing the place apart.
"Teiro-san, Marl-san, and Koume-san too! It’s been so long. You all look well."
Waiting for them at the arrival gate was Sophia, the "Little Salvager" of the Wyoming Star System. To be precise, she was an ex-salvager now. She wasn't wearing the rags she’d had on when they first met, nor was she in work coveralls.
"Yo! Your boy Teiro is always 100% healthy. Especially when there’s a cute girl waiting for him. It’s a gift, really," Taro said, shooting her a wink.
Marl gave him a look of pure, unadulterated exhaustion. Taro ignored her, strolling casually through the interior of the Ladder Base. Every time they visited, the place had expanded or changed its layout, feeling more like a living organism than a station.
"Has the foundation encountered any difficulties, Miss Sophia? Please, do not hesitate to inform us if you require assistance," Koume said. The spherical AI was currently being cradled in Sophia’s arms, her status lamps blinking rhythmically.
The industry currently keeping Planet Nuke afloat had started with a simple suggestion from this little girl: Why not just salvage the armor plates from the millions of dead enemies littering the planet and sell them?
That simple idea had grown into a pillar of the Rising Sun Group’s economy, and it was expected to keep printing money for years to come. The "Sophia Foundation" had been built using the profits returned to her—though she’d tried to protest the name.
The foundation focused on jobs and education for the "Outsiders"—those living in poverty. The group was currently walking through a wing of the Surface Colony dedicated entirely to the foundation’s facilities.
"It’s... well, it’s full of problems, but I don't think there's anything I need to bother you with. The adults handle the actual management. I’m really just a figurehead," Sophia said with a bashful, modest smile.
"Do not be so humble, Miss Sophia," Koume replied, bobbing slightly in her arms. "In a capitalist society, providing the capital is the most important job of all. Furthermore, calling you a mere 'figurehead' is a gross understatement of your radiance."
Behind them, several foundation staffers nodded so hard Taro thought their necks might snap.
"Man, if they held an election here, even the General would get his ass kicked," Alan chuckled, pointing at the walls.
The corridor was plastered with electronic paper featuring drawings of Sophia, clearly made by children. While there were a few posters of Olivia—the NASA Representative in charge of Nuke—the Sophia portraits outnumbered them ten to one.
"We will support Representative Sophia with everything we have! Rest assured!" one of the staffers barked, breathing heavily with excitement.
Taro backed away slightly, intimidated by the sheer fanaticism. "Yeah, okay. I get it," he muttered with a strained smile.
They toured the Classroom Wing and the Daycare Wing before stopping at the Practical Training Wing. This area was built a safe distance from the others, presumably because things here had a tendency to go boom.
"Look at those little chicks go. Fight the good fight, kids," Taro called out, heckling the people on the other side of the glass who couldn't hear him.
In a large, soundproofed room, about ten men and women in grease-stained work clothes were swarming over a captured ground-type WIND unit. They were attacking it with various tools, dismantling the mechanical beast under the watchful eye of an instructor.
"I haven't been in the field in a while. Makes me kind of nostalgic," Marl said, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "Though I doubt I’d be much use in this specific shop."
This area was designed for Outsiders—people who couldn't use BISHOP. Everything was being done the old-fashioned way: by hand.
"We have factories with more modern equipment," Sophia offered hesitantly. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to use those instead?"
Taro waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, BISHOP-free is actually better for what we’re doing."
The less neural-link trail we leave, the better.
"Don't ask why... even if I told you, it probably wouldn't make any sense. Anyway, thanks for the tour. We’ll catch you on the way out."
Taro watched as Sophia and her entourage departed. Once it was just the four of them—Taro, Marl, Koume, and Alan—the atmosphere shifted. They straightened their backs and started walking with purpose.
"B8... that’s the one. Let's go."
Marl led the way using her terminal. The room marked B8 was a nondescript, low-security meeting room. It was painfully simple, devoid of any high-tech counter-surveillance.
But for them, the fact that BISHOP didn't work here was the ultimate security feature.
"Oh, the Doctor's already here. Hey, Doc! Long time no see."
Taro spotted Dr. Arzimof through the glass and let himself in. The Doctor had been staring intensely at a document, his face etched with worry, but he broke into a warm, fatherly grin the moment he saw them.
"Ah, hello, hello! You look well. Thank you for making the trip on such short notice."
They took their seats, and after a few minutes of mandatory pleasantries and status updates, an assistant—Daniil, if Taro remembered correctly—handed out a set of ancient-looking terminals.
"These are old NASA models," Arzimof explained. "Zero network connectivity. Air-gapped and archaic—exactly what we need to stay off the radar. Go ahead, open the first page. I’m afraid it’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but I think you’ll find the data... intriguing."
Taro suppressed the frantic thumping in his chest and began to scroll. Since he had to use his actual fingers instead of just thinking the commands, it felt slow, but it kept his mind focused.
He took a deep breath and started to read.